


Stitches

by foggysundays



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, Hunting, Hurt Dean, M/M, Protective Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 19:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11607546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggysundays/pseuds/foggysundays
Summary: There´s some vicious beast stalking the woods and as usual, Sam and Dean are on the prowl, trying their best to catch the thing before more people die.





	Stitches

The night was pitch black, the darkness all-encompassing and starless and Sam had never been more thankful for his brother´s idea of buying night vision goggles. At the time, he had blamed it on Dean´s poorly hidden obsession with tactical gear and equipment and had just been glad that the idiot had stayed clear of the explosives and flame-throwers.

Now he had to admit that night vision came in handy when you were being chased through the forest by an al-mi'raj.

Or, as Dean liked to call it, a uni-bun.

Sam thought that this word was totally misleading and immature, but what could you expect from the guy that came up with things like _were-pyre_.

“Sam!”

Dean´s shout snapped him out of his musings and thankfully his body was already moving by the time his head caught up with what was happening. He threw his whole weight to the left, stumbling around a medium-scale rock formation with way less elegance than he would have liked, but at least he managed to get behind the back of their current adversary without being noticed. Or breaking his nose or something equally embarrassing.

The scene in front of him would have been amusing if he hadn’t seen the state of the corpses after an encounter with the al-mi'raj. Dean was standing on the far side of the small clearing, hunting knife in hand, his body tense and ready to strike.

In front of him sat a rabbit.

It was yellowish and fluffy, silky looking fur covering it from head to tail and Sam knew that it´s eyes were huge and shiny, begging everyone to pet it. The thing was also freakishly tall, it´s head easily at the height of Sam´s groin and in addition to that, there was also the small matter of the 2-feet-long, unicorn-like horn protruding from its head.

“C´mon, Bugs Bunny. Show me what you got!”

The rabbit shrieked in outrage and charged at Dean who side-stepped the sharp horn only by a mere inch, but managed to hold onto the monster´s neck, both of them tumbling to the ground in a struggling heap of fur and plaid.

Sam was pacing on the sidelines, waiting for the right moment to jump in and wrap the cord with the pendant around the rabbit´s neck. The sigils on it were meant to subdue the raging animal, to turn it back into the docile creature it _could_ be if you disregarded its homicidal tendencies.

Dean grunted in pain, but tightened his grip on the fur, putting his squirming opponent in some sort of headlock that kept all sensitive parts of his body well away from the horn.

The younger hunter surged forward and as soon as the pendant touched the creature, it ceased its struggle completely. Dean still eyed it suspiciously before gradually loosening his grip, both of the brothers ready to strike in a heartbeat if the sigils hadn’t worked after all. The rabbit just wrinkled its nose and moved forward to carefully sniff at a bush of grass, before it made a happy noise and dug in

Dean huffed a laugh and rolled to his back, still panting harshly from the fight.

“Jesus, the fucker almost had me there for a second. Uni-buns are savage, dude.”

“Shut up, jerk, and help me remove the horn. I´m not taking any chances with that thing.”

Despite Sam´s words, they both hesitated for a moment. Sawing off the horn seemed cruel now that the al-mi'raj had stopped trying to poke them with it. In the end, it was Dean who sighed and grabbed the saw to do the job while Sam held the rabbit still.

Surprisingly, the animal didn’t even seem to mind. It just watched them with his big, dark eyes and squirmed away from the pressure of their hands, but it didn’t act like it was in pain. Dean cursed when the saw got stuck a few times, the muscles in his arms bulging with the effort.

“Son of a bitch, it´s like cutting through freaking concrete! What the hell is that thing made of?”

“You want me to take over?”

“Fuck no! I´m fine, Sam!”

A few more cuts and then the horn finally came off, causing the al-mi'raj in front of them to shrink down to a more appropriate rabbit-size. Dean grinned and waved the detached horn around as if he was fighting some invisible foe.

“Dude! This is fucking awesome! I bet this thing comes in quite handy in a fight, it´s almost like a freaking sword!”

“You don’t even know how to handle a sword, Dean.”

“Do too. You just stick them with the pointy end!”

Sam groaned but refrained from hitting his idiot brother, turning to the rabbit instead and watching as it hopped away.

They gathered their supplies and started the hike back to the Impala while Dean kept on bragging about the usefulness of their new goggles. Sam shouldn’t have opposed him on that particular purchase, there was nothing more annoying on this planet than his brother´s I-told-you-so-attitude.

He would later blame it on his annoyance that it took him so long to pick up on Dean´s weird posture and the careful way he was moving around. It was his brother´s obvious wince when he bent down to drop his weapons into the trunk that finally tipped Sam off.

Frowning, he backed the idiot up against the car and ignored the half-hearted protests as he pushed at the ridiculous amount of clothing Dean liked to wear, until his eyes met skin.

“God damnit, Dean!”

The cut was long, at least eight inches and deep enough to require stitches. It was also still bleeding sluggishly; the blood having soaked through all three of his brother´s shirts.

“Why didn’t you tell me, jerk! You know you can´t keep shit like that from me!”

“It´s not that bad! I was gonna wait until we´re back at the motel room, bitch.”

“You´re an idiot. Give me the keys, I am driving tonight! No, shut the hell up or I´ll punch you, Dean! You´ve lost enough blood already, so go sit on passenger´s seat and get some pressure on that wound.”

The fact that Dean obeyed with just some a minimum of grumbling told him more than enough about how much that cut had to hurt. Sam folded his legs behind the wheel and started their drive back, speeding a little more than usual.

Thirty minutes later he was kneeling in front of his shirtless brother, carefully cleaning the wound while Dean sipped at his rather generous glass of Johnnie Walker´s.

“You know, it´s usually way more fun for both of us when you´re in that position.”

Sam shot him a dark look.

“Then stop trying to get yourself killed by an oversized rabbit the next time!”

“Uni-bun, Sammy. It was a uni-bun.”

“Dean. _That_ was not a bunny, _that_ was a rabbit. Totally different thing! And even if it wasn´t, unicorn-bunny is _not_ an adequate name for a vicious murder-rabbit that likes to stab people to death.”

“Jeez, Sam, don´t get your panties in a twist! After all, it´s me who nearly got gutted by the damn thing! I know we´re talking Watership Down rabbit here rather than Playboy Bunny. The name´s awesome though, you gotta admit that!”

Sam didn’t deign to answer that but grabbed the sewing kit instead, disinfecting a needle and pulling out some dental floss.

Dean took another long gulp from his glass before laying back on the bed. This cut would require a fair amount of stitches and while they were both used to it by now, they had learned the hard way that blood loss and the nasty feeling of thread gliding through skin could cause even the toughest hunter to pass out.

“You okay?”

“Just hit me, Sammy.”

His brother´s breathing was calm in a way that told Sam that he was struggling to keep it even. Dean had always hated stitches, didn’t matter if he was the one doing it or the one getting it done. Resetting bones? Popping back a dislocated joint? Dean wouldn’t bat an eyelid, but stitches were a totally different story.

Sam pressed a soothing kiss on his brother´s bare hip and tangled their fingers together for a moment, waiting until Dean´s eyes softened and he seemed to calm down a bit.

“I know you´ll take care of it, Sam. C´mon, you know I hate the waiting part even more than the actual stitches.”

Sam worked as fast as he could without either hurting Dean or screwing up the stitches, but it still took him a good fifteen minutes total, which must have felt like ages to the older man.

His brother had always been the Winchester with the most talent for this particular job, even if he hated doing it. Dean´s stitches where always even and precise, leaving nearly no visible scar tissue later on.

One of his earliest childhood memories was Dean sitting on a bed and practicing his skills on an orange, his tiny fingers struggling to pierce the thick skin of the fruit with his thin needle. He remembered the pride on his brother´s face on the rare occasions that Dad praised his handiwork and he also remembered the day that John stumbled home from a hunt and told Dean he´d need his help with a long cut on his shoulder that he couldn’t stitch up himself.

His brother must have been around eight or nine, already familiar with the task of helping their father dress his wounds and change bandages, but up until now John had always been capable of doing the stitching part himself. There had been real fear in Dean´s eyes, a sight so unfamiliar that Sam himself had felt anxious, but as always, his brother had soldiered on, hesitating for just a heartbeat before he carefully started to pierce his father´s skin, his movements gaining confidence with every stitch. By the time he was done, John had gone through a good third of his whiskey bottle and Dean was very obviously struggling to keep it together.

It had been Sam who´d rubbed soothing circles into Deans lower back when he puked his guts out afterwards, while Dad had passed out on a bed.

From that day on, Dean had made sure that it was always him that got to treat the wounds, him that did the stitching, him that bandaged them up. His brother made sure that Sam learned all the medical skills he´d need as well, but he only ever had to use them when the two older hunters were too out of it to do it themselves.

After Dad´s death, this had changed of course, but Dean was still far more practiced with these kinds of things than Sam himself.

“Get your head out of whatever hole you´ve dug yourself into this time, Sammy. C´mon, I need a shower and then at least six hours of sleep. You gonna join me?”

Dean was looking at him with concern and something akin to melancholy in his eyes. As always, his brother knew exactly where his thoughts had been.

Sam huffed a laugh and climbed onto the bed to kiss the idiot gently, just the soft press of lips on lips, a caress to remind them both that they had survived yet another day. He pulled away when Dean tried to deepen it.

“No way, you moron! I have no intention of busting your damn stitches, so no sex for you for at least two days.”

His brother pouted and grabbed his ass to pull him closer, his eyes darting meaningfully to Sam´s legs that were currently bracketing Dean´s hips.

“I´m getting mixed signals here, Sammy. You´re already straddling my lap and there´s at least one part of you that´s not very happy with your idea of a fun evening.”

Sam rolled his eyes and allowed Dean to pull him into another kiss before reluctantly disentangling them and walking towards the bathroom.

“I mean it, Dean. You know the rules, I´m not having sex with you when you´re still bleeding all over me. Two days, dude, two days.”

“Blowjobs, then?”

“That still counts as sex.”

“You´re no fun, Sam.”

“Get your ass into the shower, Dean, and I might even let you ogle me.”

“I already know exactly what you look like, bitch.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“ _Fine_. I´ll let you keep the uni-bun horn, then.”

“I told you, you would learn to love the name.”

Now it was Sam´s turn to throw his brother a bitchface, but Dean ignored him, wrapped his arms around his waist and they both stumbled into the shower.

“I _still_ hate that name, but I know how to pick my battles. Now shut up and give me the shampoo, you still have half a forest in your hair.”

“As if yours is any better. I think there´s at least two birds nesting in there now.”

“Fuck you, Dean.”

“Love you, too, bitch.”

**Author's Note:**

> An al-mi'raj is apparently a "real" thing and sounded both cute and scary.  
> My only source is [Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Al-mi%27raj) because I´m a lazy shit and I also took a few liberties, so my apologies for any inaccuracies.


End file.
